


The Way I Used to Be

by luxurywounds



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Crying, Fantasizing, Giant/Tiny, Giants, Growth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Macro/Micro, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pet Names, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sleepovers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxurywounds/pseuds/luxurywounds
Summary: "And if you remembered meyou can save me from the way I tend to be..."It’s been four years since Steven Rogers has been in his hometown of Copper Harbor, a small docking town with a good aura and even better people, including his childhood best friend Bucky. He remembers a lot about him, but perhaps the most important thing of all he remembers is that Bucky used to have a certain issue with regulating his height. Now Steve is returning for the summer and he is faced with the harsh reality that his and Bucky’s relationship may not go (and grow) as smoothly as it did once in the past.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for checking out my first work on the Archive! I just wanted to say prior to people reading this story that it mainly revolves around macrophilia (i.e. the kink of a major size difference). While there are other aspects of Steve and Bucky's relationship explored, the main crux of it is related to growth and the kinks that come with that. If you're not into that... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Enjoy this gratuitous niche porn with some plot.

The car ride wasn’t as bad as Steve thought it was going to be. Greenery encompassing both sides of the road for a considerable distance was a great inspiration for his sketching, even though the green strokes of leaves he tried to neatly convey in colored pencil turned out jagged due to the bumpy terrain of the county roads further into the trip. He couldn’t have much of a steady hand anyway, considering where he was going and who he was going back to.

This summer Steven Roger’s Uncle Nick has beckoned him to return to Copper Harbor to assist him in working the docks for a generous wage and an included place to sleep. Steve happily agreed, glad to get out of the house for a change and glad for an opportunity to take his mind off the fact that they simply couldn’t afford college for him so he had to be stuck at home. Copper Harbor is the place where Steve grew up and spent his days of youth swimming in the lake and helping his parents with the little tourist museum that they owned at the time. He had lived like that until he was fourteen. Around that time Steve’s father had received an offer five hours away for a job as a technician specialist at a prosperous hydro-electric dam, a job offer that was much too great to pass up, especially with the museum not pulling in as many visitors as it used to and with Steve’s mother’s blooming sickness. Steve had to heart-wrenchingly pull away from the small, rural community that he loved and trade it in for city streets and industrial blocks. He also had to leave his childhood best friend, James “Bucky” Barnes, behind as well.

Bucky was three years older than Steve but that never stopped the pair from being known as _BuckyandSteve_ around the boardwalk. They were practically inseparable, living down the street from one another and tagging along with each other even if one had to do something so simple as to take out the trash. Steve couldn’t even remember the first time that he met Bucky, only knowing that they had known each other for a long time and that that was all that mattered. Bucky was Steve’s rock when he lived in Copper Harbor, and Steve used to yearn to know if Bucky felt the same way. He constantly pushed him to follow his dreams of becoming an artist and occasionally saved his ass from a few fights with other kids in the neighborhood, protecting him even when he expressly outlined that Bucky didn’t need to do that for him. Bucky was just that kind of selfless guy that anyone would be lucky to have, even Steve Rogers, who for the most part hated the thought of being looked down upon for his small stature or having to need assistance. In fact, saving him from a fight was how Steve became aware of Bucky’s, ahem, _physical_ dilemma.

Did he still have it? Probably not, right? It had been four years, after all. Perhaps Bucky had grown out of it with age, like his parents had hoped he would. Like Steve should have hoped he would. The whole situation was so bizarre, he couldn’t help but think of it as a fragment of a dense fever dream that he had intertwined with his reality. To do anything but hope that he was cured of it made Steve feel like a really, really bad person. There was probably no need to beat himself up over it, though. The whole thing had probably been a fucked-up outcome of the various medications Steve was on that took control of his fucked-up brain. The only reason Steve needed to feel guilty about it was that, inherently, it could be considered as a fantasy by his therapist if he ever brought it up, which he would never do. If he did, he would have to explain why he didn’t want it to stop. Bucky used to be his best friend, for Christ’s sake. That’s what he would always label it as, being a good friend...

•*•*•

_“Why does it have to be so cold here all the time?” Steve complained, putting on his second pair of long johns and starting to rummage through the closet for more blankets even though the last time he had checked in there had been a half hour ago. It was almost as if he was wishing that a magical pile of them would appear if he just let the closet alone for an allotted amount of time._

_“Well, buddy, I d’know if you know this, but we’re a lil’ more close to da’ tundra then some people,” Bucky chuckled, sitting up in Steve’s bed and thumbing through a comic book. School had been canceled today because of the low temperatures and Bucky immediately came over to Steve’s house when he heard the news, muttering to himself something about “not leaving you alone to freeze” while walking through his doorway with extra jackets and socks that Steve’s family simply didn’t have._

_Now here they were after drinking two cups of hot cocoa each, watching a couple re-runs of a game show on TV, and playing card games like War (Bucky beating Steve’s ass constantly at cards was the better way to describe it). They had decided to move to Steve’s bedroom since his heater seemed to pump out warm air better than the living room one. It still wasn’t enough, though. They were still both shivering and Steve started to notice the tell-tale signs of his legs weakening and getting ready to give way at a moment’s notice._

_“Ha-ha. Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Steve turned back to his bed and collapsed on it, lacing his fingers on top of his stomach and looking up at the ceiling, hoping that Bucky could still be warm with the feeble amount of blankets he had to offer him. When he glanced over, he noticed Bucky was staring down at him. “What?”_

_Bucky hesitated, biting his lip and putting the comic book down on Steve’s bed-stand. “Well...I think I know a way that we can both be warmer and more comfortable. If you’d be okay with it, a’course,” he spluttered._

Oh. _He was talking about that, a topic that had not been brought up between the two of them since the first time it had happened a week ago. Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t want to discuss it again. Would be lying if he said he didn’t want to see it again so that he could truly trust his own eyes. It was Steve’s turn to hesitate. “I don’t know. I mean, won’t you like, hit the ceiling or something? I don’t want you putting a hole in my roof, Buck. It’s cold enough as it is.”_

_“I can stop myself, Stevie. Trust me. I don’t even think I can get that big yet, but it changes almost every week.” Bucky looked down shyly and wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to make himself appear smaller. Steve hated that. He was a good friend and no matter what he was going to love Bucky (in a totally platonic way) and make him feel comfortable in his own skin. Bucky had been doing the same for Steve his whole life, after all._

_Steve sat up in his bed and inched away from him, giving him space to do it. He trusted his friend, trusted him with his whole being. If he said he could stop, he could stop. Besides, Bucky was only trying to help._

_Steve nods. “Go for it.” Bucky’s mouth quirks up into a grin as he hears it, but only for a split second. That face of uncertainty is back, clawing at Steve’s insides. Bucky slowly extends his right arm out towards him, shaking as if Steve was going to turn into a serpent when they touched skin. He gratefully takes Bucky’s hand, squeezing it with as much force as his small frame can muster to provide a sense of stability._

_Bucky then looks towards the ceiling and spreads his limbs out on the bed, legs outward and left arm resting on top of his thigh. His eyes flutter closed and he exhales a sharp breath. Steve notices that his plumped lips are a little bit chapped, bringing attention to the fact that he had probably been focusing on them for entirely too long. Bucky’s face contorts into an expression of concentration, and that’s when his chest seems to take up more space in the room with every breath he takes. His legs stretch towards the edge of the bed, toes curling inward. Bucky decides to shuck his long sleeve shirt off at that point. When he’s shirtless Steve can clearly see the pectorals that Bucky has gained through helping his father on the docks and playing on the local baseball team. Bucky seems to notice this too, looking down at his bare chest before making direct eye contact with Steve. He looks away quickly and shyly, embarrassed for ogling at his best friend like he was some kind of exhibit in a museum._

_A brief moan of relief breaks him out of his guilt-ridden thoughts, looking back to Bucky to find him staring at him and stretching his limbs out. His hands could brush the ceiling tiles if he really tried. From what Steve could gage in feet, Bucky looked like he measured to be about eight, sitting upright in the bed and now folding his arms across his bare chest._ Thank God for high ceilings, _Steve thought._

_“C’mere,” Bucky beckoned with a pleased smile plastered on his face. Steve immediately obeyed, crawling into the bed on his hand and knees, inching towards Bucky before settling by his right side. “You look like a pet,” he cooed, scruffing his hair up with a big hand and a shit-eating grin._

_“Woah, woah. Hands off the merchandise, pal,” Steve protested with annoyance and a tinge of playfulness._

_Bucky didn’t respond but instead, without warning, lifted Steve up by his armpits like he was a toddler and planted him in his lap. Steve lolled his head back and his neck made direct contact with Bucky’s warm, toned chest. His first thought was to immediately protest, tell off Bucky for treating him like he was a child and fend for himself in the cold of the living room. But when he looked up in his best friend’s eyes, all he was met with was a demeanor of adoration and relaxation. Bucky was looking down at him like he was a trophy he just won, and Steve could help but selfishly hope that Bucky could look at him like that all the time. He wouldn’t mind being treated like Bucky’s pet sometimes. Only Bucky’s though. He sighed and dropped his head back against his chest, pulling up some of the remaining blankets to cover his legs. Bucky’s breaths seemed to reverberate through him, and that was how he fell asleep that afternoon, listening to the gentle giant above him inhale and exhale while his fingers carded through his blond hair._

•*•*•

“Steve. Hey. We’re here. You good?” His father asks, looking back at him from the front seat with mild concern where Steve was currently spread out with his sketchbook on his chest.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” Steve replies, brushing a hand over his face and then running it through his hair. He must of been caught up in his thoughts again and dozed off. Opening his car door and landing solidly if not a little wobbly on the ground, the first thing he opts to do is stretch his legs and arms, reaching for the fluffy white clouds in the clear blue summer sky. Secondly, he looks up at his Uncle Nick’s house, taken aback by how different and homey it looks compared to the places he’s seen in the city. Uncle Nick is sitting in a rocking chair on the wraparound porch, smoking a cigarette and waving at them. Steven waves back before going to the back of the car to get his luggage, thinking about the workload ahead of him and the possibility of seeing Bucky around still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I actually enjoyed writing this and kinda ran away with it... Please let me know if you liked it and would want more!:)


	2. Chapter 2

After Steve had tightly hugged his father goodbye and hefted all his luggage into the house he stood in the antique-looking living room shifting from one foot to another with his uncle Nick. Every space of wall seemed to have lighthouse brick-a-brack on it and the shelves were practically spilling with catty snow globes and chunks of copper that he no doubt got from the iron mine five miles out of Copper Harbor. Steve gazed around the room and then at himself, almost becoming ashamed that his plain self was all he had to offer to the vibrant scenery of the house. He had just thrown on a plain gray t-shirt and blue jeans that day with his Keds, not expecting to feel like he had to make a statement.

“Your room will be up on the second floor there,” Uncle Nick explained. “Has a twin and a small bathroom on the side. TV on top of the drawers, too, but I haven’t got the slightest damn idea if it works or not.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Steve reassures him, grateful to have a bathroom of his own above all. “I’ll start hauling up my stuff now then, if that’s alright?” He was tired from the drive and the thoughts that came with it and wanted to get all his stuff up and over with so that he could collapse on the bed and snooze, knowing without a doubt that his skinny arms would surely be sore from the weight.

Uncle Nick gives him a wave of his hand and opts to sit down in one of the two leather arm chairs facing apart from each other. “Of course. Your room is the second to last door on the left side of the hallway, diagonal from James’s.” When he hears that name Steve loses grip on the backpack that he was dragging up from the floor and it drops down next to his suitcase with a loud thud. Uncle Nick quirks up an eyebrow.

“James?” Steve breathes out.

Uncle Nick leans back in his chair and sets both of his arms on the rests. “Oh, yes. Barnes lives here, too. Least I could do. He’s not here very often, though. He tends to consume himself in his work. If not tonight, you’ll see him tomorrow at the docks.”

_Well, there went the possibility of it being a completely different James_ , Steve thought. He lives here? Why didn’t anyone tell him? Now he was daunted with the possibility of seeing his childhood best friend after four years tonight, a meeting which Steve definitely would have liked to put some thought to beforehand. He always tended to worry and the characteristics of this situation amplified that worry by ten. Bucky was going to be living across the hall from him, for Christ’s sake. The fact should have made Steve radiate with joy; while it did make him happy, it also sent a shiver through his spine. He couldn’t help but think of the details surrounding Bucky’s bedroom that he used to tell him about as a kid and how he had to-

Steve is jarred out of his thoughts by Uncle Nick jingling a set of keys between his pointer finger and thumb. When he sees that Steve notices it, he gingerly drops them in his extended palm and says, “Should be key 127, but if not, it’s 128. Just leave the keys on the bedside table.”

After a good fifteen minutes of hauling heavy cases up the seemingly grandiose set of carpeted stairs and taking two minute breathers at the top of them Steve had finally cleared his presence of the living room and was now trying to open his door. It turned out to be key 128, after all. Before he dragged all his stuff into the bedroom that seemed to directly come out of an 1950’s hotel ad, doused in ornamental blues and whites, he glanced down the hall. Diagonal. Sure enough, there was a brown wooden door there that looked like every other in the house, but Steve knew what made it different.

There’s no way that Bucky could still possibly have his ailment and live with Uncle Nick at the same time. Uncle Nick would have to notice something, right? Bucky wasn’t even allowed to sleep over at Steve’s house when they were younger because of it, he told him, due to the fact that Bucky didn’t really have total control of his body while he slept. Steve wasn’t even supposed to know, and Bucky swore he wouldn’t tell his parents that he did for fear of them being separated. Steve was always beyond terrified of that, too, surely more than Bucky. He felt that Bucky was the guardian angel who kept him alive, back then. Not like the stereotypical angels depicted on TV, though. The real angels in The Bible, who were described as all-encompassing warriors of Heaven that were larger than life.

Steve knew that that was perhaps a weird way to think of his childhood best friend, but he couldn’t help it. Nothing about Bucky and him back then was exactly normal. Sighing, Steve pushed his door open with room key 128, brought all his stuff inside, toed off his Keds and socks, and collapsed onto the squeaky bed. The white comforter was so soft he felt that he was laying in one of Heaven’s clouds.

•*•*•

It was around two hours later when Steve woke up from his luggage-carrying induced nap and the sun had apparently gone down for the day judging by the lack of light peeking through the satin window curtains. The watch on Steve’s wrist read 6:37 and during his slumber it left deep indents on the sensitive skin there in lines and squares. The set of keys he placed on the bedside table was gone. He figured that he should make a trip downstairs before starting to unpack his belongings to at least see his Uncle Nick before he went to bed so that he could learn of the plan for the workday tomorrow, one he was extremely nervous about because he knew he was already below-par for the job.

When he made his trip down the stairs in the same clothes that he was wearing earlier he decided to drift towards the kitchen/dining area since those were the only lighted rooms that he saw. The sight that greeted him was Uncle Nick and another body moving around each other in the kitchen to tend to boiling pots on the stove top and chop vegetables on a wooden cutting board placed on the elongated granite island. The aroma in the air was that of tomato sauce and freshly cut greens. Uncle Nick was the first one to notice his presence, setting down a pepper shaker as he spun around to greet him. “Ah, Steven! I’m glad you’re up. You can join us for dinner. We’re almost finished.”

The other man in the kitchen turned around as well upon hearing his name and — _holy fuck_. It was Bucky, in the flesh. Steve shouldn’t have been surprised by his being there. Uncle Nick said that he might see him tonight, after all, but that wasn’t the point. He wasn’t as shocked to see Bucky as he was shocked to see _Bucky._ He stood at around 6’2” now, towering over both Steve and Nick without an effort. His brown, wavy hair was grown out to rest on his shoulders and all Steve wanted to do was run his fingers through it in awe and ask how he had done it. Bucky’s overall exterior had matured, as well. He was wearing a short-sleeved black Under Armour shirt and it clearly defined the muscled biceps and abs he had gained through his work. To best describe Bucky’s body now in a word would be beefy. Some scruff was on his face, which was very different from the Steve Bucky knew back then, who complained restlessly that he would never be able to grow a beard while in front of the mirror.

Bucky gave him a small smile and stepped towards him. _Oh God._ Steve thought he would spontaneously combust if Bucky was a mere five inches from him with all the thoughts that were filling his brain at once. “Hey, Steve. Good to see you again.” Bucky said, stretching his arm out for a hand shake. On one hand, Steve was relieved, not having to venture into the strong emotions that came with leaving Bucky for so long, but on the other hand, _a hand shake? Good to see you again?_ Steve didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was a little more than this acquaintance-like encounter.

Regardless, Steve took Bucky’s hand and shook it with as much strength as he could muster, which wasn’t much. Compared to his grasp Bucky’s was a death grip, one that sorta left Steve’s hand throbbing as they retracted. He tried to look into his eyes, seeing if there was any evidence of a deeper feeling, but all he saw in return was Bucky’s beautiful blues seeming to look right through him as though focusing on something more important. _And it hurt. Bad._

Dinner with them went smoothly, mostly because there wasn’t a lot of talking. Uncle Nick did explain his role on the docks, though, and it definitely wouldn’t be heavy-lifting. Instead, Nick wanted Steve to do more of the bookkeeping with the different shipments coming and going. It made complete sense, and to be honest, Steve was a little relieved at hearing that, grateful for whoever was looking after his lung health. Steve could’ve swore he’d heard Bucky chuckle when Uncle Nick said he wouldn’t be lifting, but when he looked up, Bucky’s face was stoic and focused on Nick.

In fact, throughout the whole dinner, Bucky only seemed to look at him once, and Steve knew that because he was shamelessly staring at him the whole time, studying his side profile and his movements like an unabashed creep. He couldn’t help it, though. Bucky was just so _different_. The time he did catch him staring Steve quickly looked down at his lap and a rosy blush crept up his neck onto his cheeks. When he got the courage to look up again Bucky was still looking at him with the whisper of a grin on his lips. _Bastard._

•*•*•

Before Steve went to bed that night he opened his door a crack and glanced out into the hallway. It was quiet and dark for the most part besides the considerable sliver of light peeking out from a room. _Bucky’s room_. Steve wanted to get a better look but didn’t dare risk the door making a loud, unwanted creak. From what little view he had he could see one half of Bucky. He appeared to be stretching, his arm twisted high over his head. Steve didn’t notice that he unconsciously pressed his face more against the crack. That was all he got to see, though, before Bucky went to turn his light off and shut the door behind him. Steve also didn’t notice that he unconsciously let out a whimper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content coming next chapter... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy~. Sorry that this chapter took so long. College classes are winding up for the semester:/ Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

It had been a week since Steve had returned to Copper Harbor and it was safe to say he was officially dying, or at least being killed by one thing in particular over and over again. His job of recording and reporting actually turned out to be well-suited for him and much more relaxing than dock work, he assumed. He was placed in a small, green-walled office in the processing building adjacent to the port to do his work in peace. For the most part, the space was calming. There was a fake bamboo house plant in one corner and the constant sounds of boat horns and thuds came in muted through the thick walls. It would be a perfect place for Steve to draw in his free time, but there was one problem.

One of the walls of the office space could hardly be considered a wall. It was almost entirely window, split up in panes and looking out upon the first and main dock of the port. Usually he wouldn’t concern himself with the view, simply thinking of it as interesting, but the view was of the port Bucky worked on, and that amplified his interest by what seemed like a million times more. When Steve was on break all he did was eat the lunch that he had packed for the day, mostly peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and then stare out the window at the men — or man — working.

Bucky was truly a sight to see. He really did put his all into his work, seeming to be the strongest one there to Steve. When he loaded and unloaded cargo from the ships his arms always flexed in the most intoxicating way, something that Steve would never have someone think about himself. You could see the strain and bulge in them as he lifted. He liked to watch him on his break, as well. How he carried himself, how he would break into a smile when someone said something funny and crinkles would appear at the corners of his eyes, how he seemed to somehow drift away from the other dock workers at times. One time Bucky was on break and apparently dribbled water from his lips because he lifted his shirt up to wipe at it, revealing his toned, strong chest to whoever was looking, like Steve. After that Steve had to get some cold water himself, feeling a little hot under the collar suddenly.

Although his new job was going well, his new living situation was... not going so well. Uncle Nick was a fine host, often waking him up with hot breakfast before he went off for the day and having Boggle sessions with him at night to keep him occupied. He was good company for Steve to have. However, one house guest was always gone, perhaps the company that Steve wanted the most. He hadn’t really seen Bucky at home since the first night he arrived and him and Uncle Nick were in the kitchen together. One night he saw him pad downstairs and then outside through the view of his open door and window when he was getting ready to go to bed, but that was it.

Steve once asked Uncle Nick where Bucky went to all the time, and he shrugged, saying he was probably out charming a dame for the evening or something. He wished he hadn’t asked after hearing that. What Steve wanted so badly was to just talk to Bucky, perhaps reflect on childhood memories and show him that he hadn’t really changed. Maybe that was the exact reason that Bucky didn’t want to talk to him. Steve was still the scrawny and sick kid he was six years ago, after all, and Bucky probably didn’t want him around now, only keeping him around them because he pitied him and had an obligation to from his family. It sent tears springing to Steve’s eyes, but if it was true, he had to hear it from Bucky himself. If only the bastard would give him a chance to listen.

Steve sighed heavily to himself without noticing it. He was reflecting on the past week in the line of a new local coffee shop that had sprung up since he moved away. The walls were wood-paneled and had dozens of photo hung on them, mostly of old Copper Harbor and faceless residents that he couldn’t quite grasp or even remotely recognize. He was almost up to the register, wanting a little treat for himself for getting through the first week. Unlike other cafes, the space was devoid of any classical or homey music and the only thing to bite into the silence was the garbled chatter of the cafe’s patrons. Well, until the insistent thrumming outside.

At first Steve mistook it for road work that might have been happening nearby or a loud car passing, but the comfort of that theory was quickly squashed when the rhythmic beats seemed to get exceedingly closer with each repetition and much more louder, like booming claps of thunder during a rigorous storm. Goosebumps made leeway on his forearms. Eventually the conversation in the coffee shop dwindled to nothing and people started to turn their attention to the windows at the front of the shop, including Steve. Nothing could be seen, though, besides the seemingly tranquil street of Fifth Avenue. One woman in a pantsuit then started heading out the entrance, apparently insistent on seeing what exactly was going on out there. Meanwhile, all heads followed her movements while bodies stayed completely still. What followed was a shrill scream from the woman as she stared down at the other end of the street.

Now, Steve was not a hero by a long shot, but he did like to know what was happening around him and in the time of crisis he liked to know what he was up against, whether it be another one of his sicknesses or a punk in an alley. So, Steve was the second one to head towards the door and hope to God that he wouldn’t have to face whatever it was outside head on at that particular moment. When his sneakers made contact with the cracked sidewalk he looked back towards the windows of the cafe. No one had made an attempt to join him. He then weakly tried to assign his full attention to the woman, first going to try to console her so that she wouldn’t go into shock or something worse. Comforting her seemed to be the thing that Steve was capable of in this situation (despite his fragile form) so he wanted to stick to that. That battle plan was quickly crushed to smithereens, though, because Steve couldn’t help himself and had to know what was startling her so badly in the distance. So, he looked, and lo and behold, Steve knew right away what caused her blood-curdling scream and panic. It had the same effect on him as well, but not to the same degree, because he actually knew personally what he was seeing, and he knew that the thing in front of them wouldn’t hurt him. Or, so he hoped. Instead, Steve seemed to be frozen in place, his two feet permanently cemented into the ground. While the woman screamed, Steve’s mouth was only able to open enough so that the incredulous whisper of _“Bucky?”_ could breathlessly pass through his lips.

It was Bucky in front of them, alright. The same Bucky that Steve had had dinner with the first night he returned to Copper Harbor, the Bucky with long hair and prominent muscles. No, scratch that. It looked like that Bucky, but couldn’t be him whatsoever. The Bucky he was staring at now was currently standing at the end of the street and studying the buildings, which seemed normal enough, but he was towering _over_ the buildings, having to measure at about fifty feet at least, Steve presumed with his rudimentary understanding of measurement. The realization that Bucky still had the ability to grow was tucked in a back corner of Steve’s mind to be forgotten about until later. Bucky was the one who made those sounds solely by walking, the thumps being his footsteps, evident by the absence of the noise as he stood still, barefoot on the road.

He was still clothed, surprisingly, clad in a forest green t-shirt and boxers, which confused Steve. Wouldn’t his clothes be ripped off? That confusion was short-lived when he focused on Bucky’s, _ahem_ , privates. There was an extremely noticeable bulge in the front of his boxers that demanded attention from everyone who looked and what seemed to stretch the material at the seams close to tearing. Steve swore that he could see it jump in his boxers from time to time, no doubt due to excitement. The twitching made it seem like it was a separate, live entity on its own, being barely contained by the fabric. Bucky’s strong and thick thighs completed the picture, being as wide as the buildings themselves. And staring at this made Steve hard. Painfully hard, and fast. It was like an electric current was sent straight to his dick, and Steve bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as to not let out a whimper. Not only was getting sexually aroused from this wrong, but now was definitely not the time for this to happen, especially when he didn’t have a clue as to whether he was in danger or not.

When he had directed his attention back to the woman beside him and not his already weeping cock, Steve realized that she was long gone. Many people were trying to do the same in the space around him. Steve should follow suit, start running, but he simply couldn’t. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to. Instead, he froze.

Bucky was now moving to take another step, obviously not paying attention because when his foot came down and made a resounding thud it also made a noise that Steve could only compare to someone ripping tinfoil off the roll. Bucky’s left foot had completely demolished a car. When he lifted off of it the red vehicle looked like a drained apple that had been squeezed for juice and made a strange popping sound, no doubt something deflating or trying to revert back to regular shape. “OOPS,” the all-encompassing boom of Bucky’s voice rang out. Steve could feel it in his toes. Steve could also feel a blurt of pre-cum spill out of his cock at the sight, especially brought on by the small smirk on his best friend’s face.

Bucky hummed to himself as he seemingly forgot about the car and started to walk forward again. It set a fluttery feeling alight in Steve’s chest, the way that his voice carried through the air and coursed into him like a calming wave. The humming was a contrast to the thunderous rumbling of the ground that shook Steve’s whole being when Bucky took a step. The road seemed to be deserted now, excluding a few faceless stragglers that were joining the crowd of those flocking away in their cars or even on foot. It’s just him and Bucky now, basically. _Can Bucky even see him?_

The giant in front of him paused again and moved a hand down to the front of his boxers, starting to palm the bulge there with an relentless pace, which elicited a loud, reverberating moan from Bucky and a tiny squeak of a groan from Steve. A noticeable wet spot bloomed on the forest green boxers and a suffocating musk is in the air. He wanted to do the same, wanted to share the ethereal and all-encompassing connection with the Adonis, but instead opted to only cup the front of his pants for support to salvage what shame he had left. Steve wished that it was Bucky’s thumb creating that pressure and stability instead. “MMMMM...” Bucky rumbled, then frowned. “FUCK. HAS ANYONE SEEN MY PET?”

When Steve heard those specific words a convulsing shiver went down his spine. The sheer fantasy that the phrase provided for him was enough to make him so weak in the knees that he stumbled so he opted to kneel in the street, still cradling his erection in a punishing grip with his left hand. Bucky has a pet in his giant form and he’s looking for it. And Steve’s chest started to hurt from how much he wanted it to be him. A void was blooming in his stomach to prepare for the unfathomable despair that it wasn’t him, just another dame that Bucky has entertained in a bar with his devilish good looks and tantalizing secret ability. Why would it be him, after all? He’s certain that Bucky’s not gay, judging from the painful memories that occurred just a week before he moved away that appear in his mind.

The sudden sadness wasn’t enough to make his erection wilt, though. He was still painfully hard in his jeans and felt close to bursting just from watching Bucky. That’s enough for him, getting to see him like this even though they might never interact. Does that make Steve pathetic? He isn’t sure. Doesn’t really care, either. The perfect label to go with his small, pathetic body, he supposes.

Lost in his thoughts, Steve didn’t realize that Bucky’s impassive gaze had been turned to the strip of road that he was kneeling on alone. He only tilted his head up again when Bucky let out a sigh of contentment, his piercing blue eyes fixed to his comparably minuscule form. Steve swallowed the sizable lump building in his throat, now feeling a bit of fear alongside his lust. It wasn’t enough to overpower it; if anything, it only registered in his arousal-addled brain as an added thrill. He was so close.

“AWWW,” Bucky cooed with a smile. “THERE HE IS.” And that’s when the dam breaks. Steve was coming in his pants, a breathy cry spilling from his lips as the world around him went black.

•*•*•

Steve awakes in his twin bed with a jolt of energy and a sheen of sweat sticking to every inch of skin. Leaning up on his elbows he can tell that his boxers are a complete mess and that his dick is finally softening. A feeling of shame erupts in his stomach and he prays to God that no one had heard his wanton noises, let alone a particular name slip out. Steve sighs to himself and gets out of bed to clean himself up, grateful he has a bathroom to himself more than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me on Discord! - uncurlyfries#1428


	4. Chapter 4

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! Plus you’ll get to see the old geezers still around here that haven’t changed a bit.”

“I don’t know... I doubt I’ll fit in with that crowd anymore. I barely did when I was growing up,” Steve sighed. Currently, Sam Wilson, who he met in the progression of the work week, was trying to convince Steve to come along to one of the bars that the dock workers frequented every Friday night together. Sam was a handsome and good-natured man, from what Steve could tell. He had been in Copper Harbor for about two years now, moving in with his grandfather after he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease. He had ended up passing away last year, but Sam had decided to stay since he fell in love with the area and got a good job. And to be honest, Steve was glad to finally find someone to converse with and confide in. Sam meant well, but he didn’t really understand that people didn’t want to go out for a night out of the town with Steve the lightweight. Steve was surprised that Sam had invited him in the first place.

“Well, you should come out anyway and not give a damn what anyone thinks. Get out of that castle of yours for some fresh air. Do you want me to pretend like I’m your bodyguard so people think you’re hot shit? I can do that.” Steve laughed at that and told Sam thanks, but no thanks. He already felt that enough eyes would be on him at the bar. At least, that was his experience at the bar he tried to go to once in the city shortly after he came of legal age. The burly men in that bar had crowded in close quickly, offering to buy him drink after drink at the counter to booze him up and make his cheeks turn pink. They would occasionally whisper in his ear that he was pretty enough to fuck, small and fragile like a girl. Thankfully, nothing had happened besides Steve having his head in the toilet all night. Steve didn’t want anything to happen and especially didn’t want to be treated like a girl because of his appearance. He hoped things would be different if he went out tonight, it being a small town and all, but he had heard that the dock workers could get pretty rowdy from Uncle Nick.

Steve knew that Sam was friends with Bucky, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask if Bucky had ever gotten that way. Rowdy. Or sad. Or happy. Or _in love_. He would feel like a loser trying to get the inside scoop on Bucky from someone who he actually wanted to be friends with instead of him. Steve presumed that he was going to be at the bar, though. He had always been a social butterfly back then and he doubted that that changed. So, Steve would have to suck it up and get used to seeing his former best friend from afar, try to find new friends to occupy his time; to him, this seemed short of impossible. Sam was a great friend to have, but Steve didn’t want to bombard him with his presence, especially after only knowing him for one week. No, he could manage himself tonight at the bar. He hoped.

•*•*•

Steve opted to put on an oversized pale blue sweatshirt, jeans, and his Keds when he started getting ready to go. It wasn’t exactly bar attire, but he didn’t have anything that would be considered that, so he went for comfortability instead. It was only about a ten minute walk from Uncle Nick’s to there so he decided to go on foot, grateful to have the cool breeze from the water be swept across his face and calm his nerves. When he stepped into the bar a blush quickly colored his cheeks due to the temperature difference.

The bar was called The C and R, but Steve had no idea what the letters stood for. Strings lights of a golden hue were hung up on each wall haphazardly and contrasted with the neon signs promoting Corona and Busch beer behind the island where patrons sat and conversed with the servers. The dull thud of pool balls being hit and then colliding with each other could be heard in the background. Sam seemed to notice Steve enter right away, no doubt watching for him, and waved him over to a small wooden table in the back of the room with two other people sitting at it, beers in hand. They were introduced as Clint and Natasha and Steve warmed up to them right away, reveling in the jokes they cracked and the way they gossiped about the others in the bar with quick wit and enthusiasm. He thought that they were perfect for each other, but Sam later explained to him that they were just really good friends.

They sat there for a good while, Steve mostly listening to them reverently talk about how one of the dock workers, Rollins, had supposedly gotten a girl who lives two hours away pregnant. Steve didn’t know anything about it, but he enjoyed their enthusiastic explaining of details, nonetheless, content just to drink and be in good company. Eventually more people started to filter into the bar as the night went on, usually just groups of two or three and the occasional single looking for a night that they probably wouldn’t remember. It was like that until about ten o’clock, when a group of seven thronged through the entrance. Among the front of them were dock members that Steve could vaguely remember seeing from his office view. Natasha let out an audible gasp. _“Oh my god!”_

“What?” Steve questioned.

“Bucky‘s here. He usually never comes out with us. This is, like, the first time that I’ve seen him in here,” she answered. Sure enough, the brunette was flanking the group, dressed up in a black and red flannel with a black undershirt and laced-up biker boots. His long hair was tied up in a half bun, much to the absolute debauchery of Steve’s self-control and calm aura. Now he was clutching his arms to the sides of his thighs, as if he didn’t know where they might go. “Do you know Bucky, Steve?” Natasha questioned with a sultry look as she sipped her beer and looked up at him.

Steve’s throat went dry so he took a sip himself before answering. “Uh, yeah, a little,” he sputtered. He doubted Bucky would admit to knowing him if asked, so he played innocent. “We both live in Nick Fury’s house up on the hill, but he’s never there.”

Clint chuckled to himself while Natasha guffawed. “No. Wait, really? You lucky duck! What I would give to see Barnes in his natural habit, if you know what I mean,” she said with a wink at Steve, which caused him to blush cherry red. He bet that if you pulled his sweatshirt down you could see it spread down to his neck.

“Natasha,” Sam warned.

“Right, right, sorry. Well, anyways, James Barnes is like, super hot, and one of the top dogs of the dock. I seriously think that everyone likes him. However, he’s a really big loner. Likes to keep to himself a lot. Which is fine, but I think he could have a great time if he just opened up a bit more.” Clint and Sam nodded in agreement. When Steve turned his gaze back to Bucky he saw that he was now with the others around the pool table, stretching over the green with pool cue in hand. He could see Bucky’s shirt ride up as he did so, revealing his sinful hips that the blonde definitely shouldn’t be staring at. The clacking of the pool balls finally startled Steve out of his stupor.

There was a correlation between Bucky showing up to the bar and Steve drinking more. Whenever he caught himself staring at the man he was inclined to take another drink to shamefully try to blur his vision and forget about the underlying pain of their lost friendship. He tried to focus on the conversation that the rest of the table was having throughout the rest of the night but to no avail. When Sam, Natasha, and Clint decided to call it quits and go home, Steve opted to stay, promising them that he would be okay and that he was just going to try to talk to some more people before the night was over. He didn’t.

Steve felt almost spiteful, staying at the bar. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the first time that Bucky went out on Friday night was also the week that Steve had returned to Copper Harbor and moved into the same house as him. Bucky was trying to avoid him, it seemed, and it wasn’t Steve’s fault that Bucky escaped to the one place where the blonde could drown his sorrows. So, Steve sat at the wooden table in the back, watched the men laugh and smile at each other while he nursed his nth beer, having lost track.

It wasn’t long being by himself and drinking before someone from Bucky’s group sauntered over to where he was sitting. Steve recognized this man from the docks. He was the one who always looked angry and who was always slapping his coworkers hard on their backs, making him feel a phantom pain on his own every time he witnessed it. Steve shuddered when he was close enough to touch. “Hey, there,” he breathed hotly on his shoulder. Although drunk himself, Steve could smell the strong scent of liquor on his breath and scrunched his nose up. “I’m Brock. You look awful lonely sitting over here by yourself.” He shrugged and looked down, cupping his beer with his bony fingers. Brock then suddenly titled his chin up with two of his cold fingers and turned his head so that it was facing him, making Steve let out a quiet gasp. He clutched his beer tighter. “I could fix that for you, gal.”

Steve jerked his head away, knitting his eyebrows together tightly. “Don’t touch me,” he spat.

Now it was Brock’s turn to frown, only his probably put a scarier feeling in Steve’s gut than his did to him. He moved his hand to the back of Steve’s chair and held it in a tight grip. “Now wait a minute doll-“

“Brock. Come over here,” Bucky shouted from across the room. He was staring at them with his arms braced on the pool table’s edges. His voice was strong, Steve noticed. Steadfast. Perfect for leading a group or commanding. Brock knew it too, apparently, because he immediately left Steve alone and went over to Bucky like an obedient dog, which made him sigh to himself in relief. When Brock returned to the pool table Bucky causally slipped an arm around his waist and began whispering something in his ear, which made Brock make a sound akin to a laugh. _Oh god_ , Steve thought. They were talking about him, joking about him. Bucky was probably saying to Brock not to waste his time on such a sickly little thing like him. Or revealing that he had heard Steve pathetically moan his name in the night. It immediately made Steve’s chest constrict in embarrassment. He also couldn't help but get sad that Bucky would never put his arm around him like that again. God, he was such a freak. The blonde quickly made his way to the door and out into the street, careful not to let anyone see the tears springing to his eyes.

The walk home was rough. Steve’s head was already groggy from the alcohol and the constant wetness in his eyes didn’t help matters. It was a good thing the streets were virtually empty. He staggered at moments but eventually made it back to Uncle Nick’s house, opting to crash on the living room couch and grab one of his sketchbooks to hold his attention and to keep from crying. He felt so pathetic originally having hope that the night would go well, having hope that he would be able to ignore Bucky’s new life. Steve now only hoped that he could produce a semi good-looking picture of the night sky with colored pencils while drunk. He sat like that for a short while, eventually cocooning himself in blankets and shucking his jeans off, discarding them to the side of the couch. It reminded him of when he was a child, making nests on the couch the nights his father worked later than usual so that there was some sense of comfort about in the house. Wadded up pieces of sketchbook paper quickly multiplied on the floor. About ten minutes had passed and Steve had barely penciled in a skyline before he heard the front door open and close softly. The sound of heavy boots being taken off in the entrance hall registered in Steve’s slightly ringing ears before footsteps padded closer, coming to a rest in the living room about five feet from him. Steve didn’t even bother to turn his head around, partly because he was too exhausted to move and partly because he felt like fresh tears would threaten to erupt from his eyes if he did. His heart was beating too fast. “You should have let me walk you home.”

Steve absentmindedly brushes the blunt side of the pencil across the top of the paper, leaving little tracks of graphite in its wake. “I’m fine.”

He hears Bucky guffaw behind him, clearly exasperated with his answer, but Steve doesn’t care. He doesn’t owe him attention right now even though a small part of him is grateful Bucky is finally talking to him. _Why did it have to be when he’s drunk?_ A paralyzing fear is starting to course through Steve’s body, beginning with his rapidly chilling feet currently resting in the space between the couch cushions. If Bucky keeps talking to him he might blurt out something highly unfavorable to their already crumbling relationship. “Yeah, because you look like the epitome of stability right now, pal.” And, as if hearing his jumbled thoughts surrounding him, Bucky does the damnedest thing: he goes and takes a seat across from Steve on the couch, shrugging off his flannel and resting his elbow on the couch arm so that he can hold his head in his palm all while looking at Steve intently with those icy blue eyes. Steve’s immediate reaction is to bring his legs back up against his chest, not wanting to risk accidentally poking Bucky in the thigh with his cold toes and making things even more awkward. Bucky quirks up a eyebrow but nevertheless doesn’t comment further on it. “Hey,” he whispers, “seriously, what did Brock say to you?”

Steve can’t help but let out a snort. “Why do you want to know, Buck? So you and him can laugh about it some more?” he counters. It doesn’t feel right coming out of his mouth, venomous and unwarranted, especially when it’s directed at Bucky, but he can’t help it. The hurt that he feels surrounding his love life and Bucky and his past is still much too tender, and it probably always will be.

Bucky lets out a surprised chuckle then, akin to the one Brock did at the bar, face only able to be described at incredulous. “ _What?_ What are you talking about? Stevie, I would never.” And if that nickname doesn’t break his heart into a million little pieces, not much else will. But Bucky can’t call him that anymore. Not when he hates Steve. It’ll remind Steve too much of when he didn’t hate him and how they were closer than ever on frozen weekday mornings and humid weekends out by the lake, hands intertwined.

“After you called him back over you put your hand around him and whispered something in his ear and he laughed. I get it, it’s funny.” The idea of anyone going up to Steve and actually wanting him for who he is as a man is undoubtedly hilarious, apparently.

“No, it’s not,” Bucky says with steel in his voice. “Look, I called him over because I saw him badgerin’ you like a jackass. Then I whispered in his ear that if he tried anything with you, I would kill him. He probably laughed outta fear, which is good. He should be scared.” That sentence was followed with a half-smirk on Bucky’s lips.

“Oh,” Steve whispers. "No, he didn't say anthin' bad." Now he felt like even more of an idiot, assuming that Bucky was actively teasing him. He didn’t know if that was worse than what he wasn’t doing, though, which was talking to him or paying him any attention. Bucky was a good man. Steve knew that, and it’s probably why it hurt so much. It was too overwhelming to have that sheer positivity that he looked forward to back then taken away from him now when he needed it the most. Especially when they were adults now; no more hiding, no more embarrassment, just bliss. _Well, here goes nothing._ “Why do you hate me, then?” Steve blurts out.

It’s hard to describe Bucky’s face. Instead of answering right away he just kind of frowns, pressing his lips together in a tight line and down casting his eyes to the carpet. It does absolutely nothing to calm Steve’s suspicions. Not in the slightest. Steve’s worried he’s not going to get an answer which he so desperately needs. Worried that Bucky is just going to shrug and say “I don’t know” or just respond with “Because I do", which would be so much worse. Bucky doesn’t owe him an answer in this scenario, but it would be awfully courteous of him if he gave him one so Steve can find out what’s wrong with him and what he needs to fix to get him back. Finally, Bucky speaks, not meeting his eyes at first. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, Stevie. I just think that... _this_ ,” he motions to the small space between them that he obviously wished was bigger with his hand, “is better in the long-run.”

“For who?” Steve questions as his voice cracks.

“Both of us. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry, doll.” Steve doesn’t even realize that hot tears are spilling down his face, dripping off his nose until Bucky brings his large hand to his cheek to gently wipe them away with his thumb, giving him a sympathetic look with eyebrows drawn in. Steve wants to push his hand away, get up and firmly state that he doesn’t want pity from him, but he’s weak, so instead he chooses to revel in Bucky’s touch, even if it’s so small and temporary. “I’m so sorry, Steve,” he repeats, now looking back down at the shag carpet that’s apparently riveting. “I’ll...I’ll do better. I promise.”

Steve doesn’t know what to make of that sentiment. Bucky is still stroking his cheek even though he thinks most of the tears must be gone by now. They sit like that for a while in silence, Bucky touching him and Steve breathing heavily while gripping tight to the blankets and trying to stop crying. Steve is getting sleepier by the second, wanting to soothe the blooming headache he has from sobbing. He wishes to pass out but in his drunken state he’d probably end up right in Bucky’s lap, mortifying him for good.

Bucky interrupts Steve’s thoughts by going to clap his hands together dramatically and smiling. The crinkles by his eyes when he does so come to light, looking even more beautiful up close. “I have a brilliant idea. Ya know how we were kids and we never got to have sleepovers? You or I would always hafta’ go home early? Well, I mean, I don’t know about you but I’d say it’s long overdue and I’m almost ninety-nine percent sure that Nick won’t tell us no.”

Steve actually laughs out loud at that after getting the rest of his sniffles out. “You’re joking, right?”

“Dead serious,” he says, schooling his face into a smolder with a hard set chin and piercing gaze. His hair falls down on a part of his face, making him look like some kind of warrior. It makes Steve want to laugh again, but even more so it makes him want to kiss that ridiculous look off of Bucky’s face that’s he’s trying to lift Steve’s spirits up with. It’s easy to remember why Bucky is his everything in moments like these. “C’mon, I have, like, a huge bed that I spent a ton on and if I don’t get to rub it in your face, frankly, I’ll be offended.”

It turns out that Bucky does have a huge bed that Steve never noticed with the small glimpses he got into his room. When he asks how he got it Bucky looks taken aback and responds with, “I work hard all the time, kid. Duh.” A word to describe it would be colossal, spanning from almost one side of the room to the other and covered with a grey comforter and tons of weighted, soft pillows that he coaxes the blonde to feel. It does the job of making Steve jealous. Bucky’s room is also bigger than Steve’s, but it makes sense since Bucky has lived here who knows how long and Steve is only staying the summer. He doesn't know whether to feel sad about that yet or not. The walls are pretty barren, only housing a dreamcatcher here and there and a fancy clock. Steve notices that there are marks that look like little holes dug into the ceiling plaster but he doesn’t comment on it.

“Are you sure about this?” Steve questions after changing into some pajama bottoms and brushing his teeth. His headache has subsided for the most part, thankfully.

“Of course,” Bucky smiles, now in pajama pants of his own. “It’s not like we’re going to be spooning each other or anything. You’ll be like ten-thousand miles from me. Now get your ass in the bed, I’m tired. Unless, of course, there's some kind of sleepover rule about that, Rogers?"” He then gracefully flops back on the comforter and holds his arms behind his head showing off his biceps, almost like an invitation that Steve has to vigorously shake out of his head. Steve slowly gets into the bed with Bucky, pulling the covers up around him and feeling so small when his head finally hits the pillow and he looks over at Bucky who looks like a giant next to him, his broad shoulders facing the wall and rising with each deep breath.

“Goodnight, Buck.”

“Mmm, g'night, Stevie.”


End file.
